Bye bye, black sheep

WINEAustralian's well-received wines complement his individual style

MICHAEL LONSFORD, Copyright 2006 Houston Chronicle |
November 8, 2006

Hugh Hamilton is a fifth-generation winemaker who does his own thing in Australia.

Here's my modus operandi:

When I interview a winemaker, I allow 45 minutes to hear the story, taste the wines — and leave early enough so that he or she can go to dinner, and I can, too.

And I check Web sites and press material to get as much background as possible.

So when I researched Australia's Hugh Hamilton, I found all this propaganda calling him the proud black sheep of the family. It seems he's the fifth-generation winemaker in the family that planted the first vines in Australia's McLaren Vale in 1837, just a year after Europeans settled there.

My first thought: He's a blowhard. Maybe I can get through this in 30 minutes.

Wrong.

Hamilton is no eccentric and probably no black sheep, either. He goes his own way by making some very unusual wines for Australia (tempranillo? verdelho? sparkling merlot?). But bottom line: He makes some bloody good wines at bargain prices. They are well-balanced, have modest alcohol levels — real overachievers.

He's a nice guy, too.

I met him one evening at Hugo's, and he turned out to be a very entertaining man. Great sense of humor. Great stories.

Like how he came to make unwooded chardonnay.

"It was by accident in 1993," he said. "I used to start out my chardonnay in stainless steel and then put it into (oak) barrels. But I had only so many barrels, and I had 1,600 liters left over, so I left it in stainless steel. I liked it so much I never used oak in chardonnay again."

Fact is, Hamilton uses no oak for any of his whites, which include maybe the best New World viognier I've ever tasted. It's fruity, has a hint of minerality and is well-balanced. It isn't cloying, sweet or unctuous, with a peach-fuzzy texture, as so many are.

Happy accidents seem to follow Hamilton. He had never made viognier before, and although the books say to pick it at a certain ripeness level, Hamilton jumped the gun. "It was underripe, and it was the best thing I ever did," he said.

Hamilton calls viognier "the most vexing grape I grow," and he knows both how good it is and how unusual. No wonder he calls it "The Loose Cannon."

Oh, his wine names, they're a hoot. His entry-level shiraz? "Jim Jim," named for the family dog. "The Rascal" Shiraz is named for himself, of course.

His top-of-the-line red wine is the "Jekyll and Hyde" Shiraz, because it's a red (shiraz) with a bit of white (viognier) blended in.

The Jekyll and Hyde is impressive. Glazer's Silas Rushton called it "one of my desert-island wines." I knew exactly what he meant.

Normally when I taste, it's just a wee sip. With the Jekyll and Hyde, I drank it all — maybe 2 ounces. "I hope you don't mind," I told him.

Hamilton laughed, a twinkle in his eye. "We don't take ourselves seriously," he said, "but we do take our wines seriously."

Then it was time to go. I had enjoyed talking with Hamilton so much I overstayed my welcome by half an hour. I hope he didn't mind that, either.